More Annoying Than Usual
by TotallyUtterlySherlocked
Summary: In which Sherlock gets pinkeye and is forcibly restrained, John is exasperated, Mycroft is surprisingly helpful, and Lestrade attempts to help but fails miserably. Not a one shot, hopefully an actual story with plot and things!
1. In Which Sherlock Runs Into John

**A/N: Hello everyone! This is my first fan-fiction ever, so please enjoy! I am American so if there are any weird Americanisms let me know.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock, John, 221B Baker Street, or anything else.**

"John?"

The ex-army doctor, who had previously been attempting to type up the latest case on his blog, sighed. "What is it, Sherlock?"

No response.

Grumbling a bit, he heaved himself off of the sofa. The flat was...unusually silent. Or, it was. A sudden loud BANG followed quickly by a string of expletives rang through the quiet. "Sherlock?" John frowned. "Are you OK?"

No answer.

"Oh for God's sake," he muttered. The sound had seemingly come from the bathroom. Slowly, he approached the room...

And nearly collided with six feet of consulting detective.

"Sherlock! What in bloody hell are you doing!?" John's heart was racing and he panted slightly. Before Sherlock could answer, John noticed that the other man's eyes were shut. He held his hands in front of him like a blind man.

"John," The baritone of his voice was as usual, but he sounded like he was trying very hard to keep it steady. "I can't seem to open my eyes."

John found himself staring at Sherlock with his mouth open. "Do shut your mouth," growled Sherlock. The doctor shut his jaw. "Right," he muttered. "Sorry, but did you say you can't open your eyes?"

Sherlock was silent.

John ran a hand down his face in exasperation. He clamped a hand firmly around Sherlock's wrist. The detective struggled a bit but John squeezed tighter. "Really, John, I'm not a child."

John didn't even dignify him with a response.

He plopped Sherlock onto the sofa. "Let me get a washcloth," he said. "Stay there." Sherlock had already gotten into his "thinking position". John went into the bathroom and took a washcloth from the shower rack. He sniffed it and inspected it. "You didn't use any for experiments, did you?" "Of course not." John rolled his eyes. He ran the cloth under warm water before returning to the living room.

Should he surprise the detective? Or warn him? "Oh, just do it already," John sighed. "Can you ever just stay quiet to let people think?" "Not if you're doing it stupidly." "Fine then," grumbled John. He sat on the coffee table and proceeded to scrub, firmly but gently, Sherlock's closed eyelids.

"Stop squeezing them shut!" Finally, John drew back. "Now let's see if you can open them," he prompted.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly, groaning all the while. "They sting," he said tightly. John peered closely at the detective's face. "Well no wonder," he muttered. "You've got pinkeye.

"Pinkeye?" Sherlock sounded dubious.

"Yes, Sherlock, conjunctivitis. God knows how you got it, but got it you did." John shook his head in disbelief. "How do you feel?"

Sherlock glared at him. "Oh I feel fantastic," he spat. "My eyes feel like I'm rubbing sand into them whenever I blink, and they're watering like faucets." He sighed heavily and rolled himself away from John.

"Ohh no you don't." John firmly grabbed his wrist. "We've got to get you to the surgery." "What on earth for?" The doctor blinked. "You need prescription antibiotic eyedrops." "Why can't you get them?" Sherlock was starting to get whiny.

Again, John didn't respond, just hauled Sherlock to his feet. John put his coat on and handed Sherlock his Belstaff and scarf. Miraculously, Sherlock only glared daggers at John but put them on.

As the door shut behind them, John sent a silent prayer skywards. _Just don't let me kill him. And don't make him want to let me._

_**  
**_**Note: And there's chapter one! I love sick!fics and no one's done pinkeye before, so...yeah. If you liked it, please review. If you hated it, please review. I would love feed back so I know whether to stop this drivel.**


	2. In Which Sherlock Infects a Cabbie

**A/N: **Wow, thank you all so much for your follows and favorites! And thank you to my two reviewers, I'm very glad you like it so far! Now, I'd like to let you all know that my next update probably won't be until the 26th (in America) as Christmas is tomorrow. To all my lovely future friends, have a WONDERFUL holiday no matter what you celebrate. And remember, reviews are great late Christmas gifts!

It took everything John had not to kill the great git right there.

After Sherlock had hailed a cab (why was it always _him_, John was more than capable of hailing one himself) and the duo got in, Sherlock immediately tipped his head to press against the cool glass of the window. John, who was currently trying to close the sticky cab door, just stared at the detective in disbelief.

"Is there some sort of problem?" Sherlock sounded horrendously put out. John ground his teeth together and squeezed his hands into fists a few times before letting them relax. "Yes, actually," John's voice was a mixture of exasperation and bewilderment. "Sherlock, do you know how contagious pinkeye is?"

A huff of annoyance came in response. "Of course I do. I never delete information about medical abnormalities." John sighed loudly. "Then why on EARTH is your bloody head against the window?"

"Feels nice, cool." Sherlock was evidently unperturbed. Very slowly, John turned to glare at this...great git who was somehow his flatmate. "Then you realize you've infected virtually this. Entire. Cab?"

"Obviously," snorted the taller man. "Why should it matter to me?"

The doctor pinched the bridge of his nose and blew air hard out his nose. "Never mind, Sherlock," he mumbled.

John dared to risk a glance at the detective, whose eyes were narrowed. _Oh God now he's going to deduce it_. John leaned back and shut his eyes.

"_Oh_." Sherlock breathed, eyes widening in realization. He took his head away from the window so quickly he was surprised he didn't give himself whiplash. "Figured it out then?" Sherlock nodded rapidly. He moved to rub his eyes (_God they were itchy_) but John grabbed his wrist. "Do. Not. Touch them." His voice came out as a growl.

"Right," the detective muttered. He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Being a doctor you obviously care about the health of the general population, so when I infected the cab it irritated you because you know I've likely guaranteed the next few customers getting pinkeye before the cab is cleaned."

John blinked rapidly. "Brilliant," he said with a half smile.

Sherlock nodded, evidently pleased with himself.

Suddenly the cab came to a stop. "We're not at the surgery yet," the detective snapped at the cabbie. "No, we're not," the man said sarcastically. "But you've got a contagious disease that I'd love to avoid giving my passengers." He growled. "Get. OUT!"

The men in the back flinched at the outburst, but meekly, John opened his door. Sherlock did too, but glared daggers in the cabbie's direction. It wasn't very intimidating since he had to keep blinking and both eyes watered horribly.

"Oy!" The cabbie somehow managed to look even more put out. "You owe me!"

Sherlock smirked. "I don't believe we do."

And with that, he slammed the door.

**A/N: **Chapter two! Again, I appreciate your reviews immensely, they make my day, so please leave one or feel free to follow or favorite my story!


	3. In Which Things Go A Bit Not Good

**A/N: Hello my darlings! I hope you all had a wonderful holiday, and if you don't celebrate, I hope your day was wonderful! Thank you for your reviews, follows, and favorites. I got an iPod Touch yesterday and reading the things you wrote made my Christmas even better. **

**Please enjoy this next chapter!**

****"Honestly John, all I did was tell the receptionist-"

"Don't." John's tone was warning as he slammed the door to the flat.

"But it was so obvious!" Sherlock threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

"How many times have I told you that telling people about their spouses' extramarital activities is not a good idea?" "Approximately 3,539." "Then why do you keep doing it!?"

Sherlock snorted. "I want to help the poor idiots who can't simply _observe_ and figure it out." John rolled his eyes. "Right, the great Sherlock Holmes being..._nice._"

The glare directed at John shut him up immediately. "Anyway," the doctor pushed past the detective. "We've got to put these eyedrops in."

"Why?" John sighed impatiently. "To help clear up the infection."

Grumbling, Sherlock flopped onto the sofa before John could even comprehend what he was doing. "SHERLOCK!" The detective turned his head. "Why are you shouting?"

"YOU'VE JUST CONTAMINATED THE ENTIRE BLOODY SOFA!" Sherlock blinked and with a glare, rolled over to face away from the sofa. John stared at the man for a few minutes before stalking to his room.

"Where are you going?" John poked his head out of his door. "To get gloves so I don't get pinkeye." His voice dripped with acid.

"No need to snap, John."

In a few minutes, John emerged, holding the bottle of eyedrops in one gloved hand.

"Lay on your back," he ordered, sitting on the table facing Sherlock.

"Why?"

John pinched the bridge of his nose. "So I can put the eyedrops in."

Sherlock complied, grumbling on about "silly eyedrops" and "it's all just _transport_, John, why do I need eyedrops?"

"OK, now keep your eyes open for me." John positioned the dropper over Sherlock's right eye. Gently, he squeezed and in a moment a drop fell onto Sherlock's...eyelid.

"I told you not to blink!" "But-" "Do. Not. BLINK."

John tried again. The same result. "Honestly, Sherlock, just keep your eyes open!"

Sherlock sighed but widened his eyes to allow another attempt. Finally, John managed to get one drop in. "Alright, blink a bit."

Wincing, the detective blinked rapidly. "Jaaawn, that makes it worse!" John sighed. "Sherlock, it'll help, I promise."

Sherlock glared daggers at him. "Fine,"

John rolled his eyes and prepared to drop the medicine into the detective's left eye.

_This is going to be a long three days._

**A/N: Not sure how long eyedrops are needed for, let me know if I'm horribly wrong and I'll change it.**


	4. In Which Mycroft Shows Up

**A/N: Thank you for all the support everyone! I really appreciate the reviews. Please let me know what you'd like to see in future chapters, I welcome ideas! Anyway, on with the chapter!**

"No."

John nearly bashed his face into the wall in exasperation. "Sherlock, you can read the bottle yourself, it says you need the drops twice daily." Scowling, the man snatched the bottle out of John's hand. His eyes scanned quickly across the information before he practically flung the bottle back to John.

"I am not allowing you to flood my eyes with any more of that disgusting, vile medication." John opened his mouth to reply, but was promptly interrupted by the sound of their flat's door opening and shutting. Sherlock's eyes narrowed immediately. "Mycroft," they said together.

"Hello dear brother," Mycroft stood just inside the flat, umbrella pointing up from the floor, hands crossed on top of its thin handle. "John," he nodded to the doctor.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure today?" John's voice nearly dripped with sarcasm. "Oh, just a bit of a wellness visit. Have to make sure he's taking care of himself." A thin smile graced the older man's face, making him look oddly sinister and snake like. "For God's sake Mycroft I'm not a patient. Evidently you seem to be more in need of a wellness visit than I." Sherlock glanced his brother up and down. "Diet's not going well, not at all." He tutted a bit and shook his head in mock disappointment." The smile grew thinner.

It took a few moments for Mycroft to notice the (_obvious_) infection his brother was harboring. "How on Earth did he get pinkeye?" John shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Though he's not being particularly co-operative." Sherlock scoffed. "As daft as you both are, I should hope you realize I am standing right here and can hear every word of your conversation?" "Shut up," snapped John. Suddenly, his face lit up. "Mycroft, could I see you for a moment? In private?"

oOo

A brief time later, the men walked back inside the flat. Sherlock was lying on the couch, eyes closed and fingers steepled beneath his chin. John put a finger to his lips and Mycroft gave him a quick nod. Very carefully, John uncapped the eyedropper and Mycroft stood directly behind his brother's head.

The doctor held up three fingers, putting each down in turn. When all fingers were down, Mycroft promptly leapt over the sofa to sit firmly on his brother's chest and pried his eyes open. "MYCROFT!" Sherlock was furious as he struggled helplessly beneath his brother. Before Sherlock could fling Mycroft to the floor, John had medicated both eyes. "Thanks," he told the older man. Mycroft nodded again and, retrieving his umbrella, left the flat just as quickly as he had come.

John sat heavily in his armchair and rubbed his eyes. Sherlock glared. "That was entirely unnecessary."

John smiled. "No, it really wasn't."


	5. In Which Lestrade is Nearly Murdered

The first day of Sherlock's infection passed by rather quickly after John's plot with Mycroft. True, the detective was now sulking in his room with the door shut, but at least he was contaminating his own things.

Currently, John was sitting in his armchair, cup of tea in hand and laptop sat on his knees. He sighed contentedly before he resumed his blog post that had been interrupted that morning.

Of course, things couldn't remain peaceful for a single minute.

There came a fervent knocking at the door. "Just a moment," called John, placing his laptop and tea on the table. He stood with a groan as his knees cracked. The knocking came again, so hard John was convinced the door might fall into their flat. But before he could raise a hand to open the door, he heard Sherlock's door open with a slam.

Dressed in his usual button up and nice trousers, the detective skidded into the room and grasped the door knob. "Lestrade," he informed John. "I figured," the doctor replied. "No one else would be so desperate to see one of us." Sherlock sniffed. "Speak for yourself," he drawled, pulling the door open.

Lestrade had his hand poised to knock again and nearly clocked Sherlock in the nose. "I was wondering how long you both planned on ignoring me." The DI looked positively frantic. "Sherlock, we-" He stopped. Sherlock merely stood and stared at him. After a moment, Lestrade cleared his throat. "Sherlock, have you got...pinkeye?" He sounded doubtful, and John couldn't help but snicker a bit from behind Sherlock.

The detective rolled his eyes. "Yes yes, I do. Why on Earth is everyone so bloody confused? It's a simple infection, not rabies." He turned when John gave an involuntary snort of laughter. "Nor is it funny!" His indignant tone only made John laugh harder.

Lestrade looked as though he was trying to suppress laughter of his own. He shook his head as though to shake out the humour. "Would you mind not blocking the doorway? Some people don't like standing in the hall." Glaring, Sherlock stepped backwards and nearly mowed John over.

Lestrade entered the flat and made to sit down on the sofa. "I wouldn't sit there if I were you," advised John, who was standing next to his armchair with his arms folded across his chest. The detective inspector looked terribly perplexed. "Why not?" Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Because I apparently contaminated it this afternoon," John sighed. "Not apparently, Sherlock, your face was all over the seat!"

"Anyhow," the older man interrupted. "We've a case that we need your help with." Immediately, Sherlock's eyes, red as they were, brightened. "What sort of case?" John just bit his lip nervously.

"Arson, looks like," replied Lestrade. "Looks like?" John couldn't help but inquire. "Yeah. The only problem is that the house is in the middle of bloody nowhere. No other homes in kilometers." Sherlock, who had been silent during the explanation, suddenly leapt up and down like an excited child on Christmas.

"Oh, wonderful! Arsons are always interesting." He stopped suddenly and looked questioningly at Lestrade. "Any bodies?" The DI shook his head. "Looks like there was some sort of struggle." The consulting detective grinned. "Excellent," he murmured. He rushed over to the door and began pulling on his coat and scarf. "Now, normally I'd ask you to come right now," Lestrade began cautiously. Sherlock barely paused. "But seeing as you have an extremely contagious infection, I'm going to say wait as long as you and John decide is best." John had been silent, but now his face was turning a rather curious shade of red.

"A word, Lestrade." He yanked the DI into the flat's small bathroom and slammed the door. "What the hell are you doing?" John hissed. Lestrade blinked. "I-" "Don't. You know how he is! Now he's going to be insufferable because I am not letting him out of this flat until he's not contagious!" The doctor saw the gears turning in the other's head and then he saw Lestrade's eyes light up in understanding, then dim in shame. "Well, I screwed that up," he murmured. John only nodded and opened the door.

Lestrade left without another word.

"A case, John! Come!" John shook his head. "No." "Alright then," the detective continued. "I'll go," John shook his head again. "No." Sherlock looked up in confusion. "What on Earth do you mean?" The doctor ran a hand through his hair. "Sherlock you're still incredibly contagious. Do you want to soil the scene?" The detective scoffed. "I'll have gloves." He made to open the door but John blocked his way. "No."

This was going to be a VERY long night.

**A/N: Sorry about the awkward ending, didn't have a good place to stop. Please review and thank you for reading!**


	6. In Which John Considers Homicide

**A/N: Hi everyone! **

**I want to apologize for how long this update has taken. No excuse here, just haven't gotten around to it. I hope you enjoy this chapter! I expect there may be one or two more to wrap this puppy up.**

****John Watson was a remarkably patient man. Really, he was.

He had always prided himself on his ability to keep his sanity even when other people were losing theirs. After all, what on Earth had kept him from murdering Sherlock the first time he found a severed head in the fridge?

Now, however, John felt his patience wearing thin. The night Lestrade had come was spent by John spending no less than three hours blocking the door. Sherlock had, to his credit, only attempted to knock John out four times.

Somehow this did not make the doctor feel any less irritated.

The morning came slowly. Agonizingly slowly.

Yes, John Watson was a patient man, but if anyone could make him homicidal, it would be a consulting detective with pinkeye named Sherlock Holmes.

This was how Sherlock found himself lying on his back on the floor in front of the front door with a very angry former army doctor on top of him.

"For the last. Bloody. Time. You are not going ANYWHERE," spat John. "Until these eyedrops." He shook the bottle in front of Sherlock's face for emphasis. "Are both gone, and have made you no longer contagious."

The look on Sherlock's face would've made John laugh if he wasn't so furious.

The detective's mouth was open just slightly as though he were about to retort. His eyes were as wide as he could make them, as though horrified by what John was doing. "This is-" He paused, searching for exactly the right words. "Incredibly undignified. People will most definitely talk."

Sighing heavily, John stood. "No one can even see us, Sherlock." The detective looked pointedly at one of the many cameras Mycroft had stationed around the flat. "Your brother would agree with my methods, I'm almost certain."

The dark-haired man sighed. "Only because he enjoys my misery."

John opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Woo-hoo!" The doctor smiled. "Come in, Mrs. Hudson!"

The landlady opened the door and entered the flat, looking between John and Sherlock. "Bit of a domestic, then?" John shook his head. "No, Sherlock is just being Sherlock." Mrs. Hudson looked sternly at the detective. "Sherlock, you've got to let John take care of you. You know perfectly well that he's right, don't you?" He nodded in a disgruntled sort of way.

"And now would be the perfect time for your eyedrops!" John sounded almost gleeful. Sherlock groaned and threw himself onto the sofa.

Mrs. Hudson shook her head a bit. The doctor positioned himself at the head of the sofa and looked down at Sherlock. "I suggest you co-operate today," he said simply, uncapping the bottle and holding the dropper steady over one eye. With no warning, he squeezed and Sherlock had no time to blink before the liquid made contact with his eye.

John sighed gratefully and repeated the procedure. "Now do something to keep yourself occupied that doesn't involve trying to leave the flat, or contaminating something that isn't yours."

Sherlock rose with a huff and stalked off to his room.

Mrs. Hudson met John's eye and gave him a little smile. "You're a saint John Watson." She squeezed his shoulder lightly before leaving.

John collapsed into his chair and shut his eyes.

Yes, John Watson was a very patient man.

**A/N: Please review!**


	7. In Which Things Return to Normal

**A/N: GUYS. Oh my goodness, I am so so SO sorry this chapter took so long! I had some health issues which are now resolved, and then I started my other fic. I am so terribly sorry I haven't updated! I hope this chapter makes up for it.**

**DISCLAIMER: Moffat, Gatiss and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle own everything. I do not. Please don't sue me.**

* * *

Three days later, Sherlock was completely free of pinkeye and no worse for wear. He solved the arson case (it was the maid) and as of now, was pacing impatiently in the sitting room. "John, this is terribly inconvenient."

The man so named merely glared at Sherlock over the screen of his laptop. "This is your fault," he said simply, reaching over to grab a tissue and scrub at his leaking eyes. "You could've reminded me you'd contaminated the sofa and we hadn't gotten it cleaned yet."

The detective rolled his eyes. "I deleted it. Dull." John gaped at him incredulously. "You...never mind." Sherlock snorted. "It was entirely unnecessary information, John." The doctor, who now focused all of his attention on his blog, made a non-committal noise. "I suppose then, that the next time you're ill, I'll have Mycroft send you away somewhere. Clearly you can't keep yourself from infecting others."

When Sherlock had processed his words, John had to cover his mouth to hide his smile. The detective looked an odd combination of hurt, perplexed, and annoyed. His face flicked through these emotions rapidly before settling on neutrality. With nary a glance in the doctor's direction, Sherlock strode over to the door, snatching his coat and scarf and leaving door before John even had a chance to ask him where he was going.

* * *

Half an hour later, John was busy in the kitchen making tea when he heard the door open. "Where'd you go dashing off to?" He flicked the kettle off and walked out into the sitting room. Sherlock had a small paper bag in his hand. "I went to collect your eyedrops," he said mildly, as though this wasn't entirely out of character.

For the second time that day, John gaped at him. "Really, now?" He sounded dubious. The detective opened the bag and held the small bottle up for John's approval. The shorter man approached the bottle carefully (with Sherlock, you never can be too careful) and took it from the detective. His eyes scanned the directions and he nodded, apparently satisfied. "Right then. Good, good. Tea?" Sherlock grunted. "That's a no, then," John muttered, puttering back into the kitchen to pour himself some tea.

"John?" He looked up to see Sherlock looking at him uncomfortably. "I..." The detective swallowed. "It was never my intention to give you pinkeye." John's face softened. "It's all fine, Sherlock. It's _all fine._" Sherlock looked relieved, then he nodded curtly before flinging him onto the sofa.

"SHERLOCK YOU BLOODY IDIOT!"

Yup. Everything was back to normal.

* * *

**A/N: There's the end! I hope you all enjoyed this little fic and that you'll consider reading my other one! Please review and once again, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. DFTBA guys, :)**


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